


Cold In Life's Throes

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean kills Metatron and gets Cas's Grace back. Everyone should be thrilled, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold In Life's Throes

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [Steco](http://stefy-coool.livejournal.com) who created such a great piece of art for me to work from! It was so much fun working with you! 
> 
> You can see Steco's amazing art [here](http://stefy-coool.livejournal.com/137093.html).

_Of course_ , Dean thinks. _Why do they always have to fling me across the room?_ He lands with a thud, and the subsequent ringing in his ears drowns out Metatron’s taunts.

Just as well, because Dean’s really getting annoyed by the sound, which grates.

Mustering up all his bravado, Dean says, “That all you got?” The blood burbling in his mouth dulls the effect, however. Dean staggers upright and wipes the blood from his eyes. Metatron, the sick fuck, stands across the room from Dean, arms folded and a smirk on his face.

Dean hates it when the bad guys smirk like that. Don’t they know he’s Dean fucking Winchester?

He ignores all the various pains - a stabbing in his left side, throbbing in his shoulder - and manages to press forward. Metatron’s laughing now, but the buzz of Dean’s anger chews up the sound. This is the guy who shut down Heaven, who stole Cas’s Grace. The reminder stiffens Dean’s resolve. He tightens his grip around the angel blade and waits. He waits for Metatron to come forward, knowing that Metatron’s curiosity will get the better of him if Dean doesn’t move.

It works. Metatron lunges forward, and Dean uses the angel’s momentum against him. He thrusts the angel blade into Metatron’s gut, snapping his eyes shut against the burst of white light. Metatron’s body slumps against Dean, who sags in relief.

He grins, triumph flooding through his veins, despite the exhaustion. It helps push him, which is good, because what he’d really like to do is sleep for about a hundred years.

But he’s on a mission, and while killing Metatron was a huge part of that, the most important part is yet to come. He wipes the angel blade on Metatron’s sweater and rolls the corpse over. A necklace hangs around the neck and a leather cord supports a tiny, glowing vial. Dean leans down and yanks the cord from Metatron's neck and cups it in his hand. The blue substance within flares briefly, a greeting, perhaps. Dean puts the necklace over his head and tucks the vial beneath his shirt. He pats it briefly before leaving the room.

Dean travels down plain white corridors lit by an unknown light source. As when he arrived, the halls are empty, and the entire complex has an abandoned feel to it. Dean shudders as he thinks about the fact that up until a year ago, angels would be all over the place, perhaps even in their natural state. Dean picks up the pace as best he can with his injuries, wanting to be out of there as soon as possible.

He's out of breath and shuddering with pain by the time he reaches the entrance, which flashes with circling yellow lights, like a large cargo bay. Dean takes one last look behind him, not entirely convinced that he wasn't followed, and then steps through.

* * *

 

He has no idea how he manages to get back in one piece, but he's parked outside the bunker, finally. He eyes the door, not certain that his left arm, which hangs loose at his side, throbbing with pain, will work enough to open the door. He reaches over with his right hand and pushes the door open with great difficulty.

Half stumbling, Dean walks the dozen or so steps to the entrance. Before he has the chance to think about where the key might be, the door swings open.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, his voice low and rough with pain.

Cas looks pissed, his brows drawn together in a frown. "Dean, what..." but he's stunned into silence as Dean uses his good right arm to lift the vial from beneath his shirt. He takes off the necklace and holds it out for Cas to see.

"It's your Grace, Cas," Dean says. He's confused when Cas doesn't take the necklace from him. Cas looks much more interested in cataloging Dean's various injuries, from the dislocated arm to the scratches that mar every exposed surface of skin and to his eye, swollen shut. Cas makes a tsking sound and gingerly puts his arm around Dean's waist and helps him into the bunker.

"Dean," Cas begins, but he doesn't say anything further. The bunker is eerily quiet, not unlike the halls of the Heaven complex Dean had been in not so long ago. Dean takes a brief moment to wonder where everyone is, thinking that there should be at least two more people there.

He doesn't think much more though, as everything goes black.

* * *

 

When he wakes, he's in his bed, warm and mercifully pain free. He's feeling pretty good, actually, now that he really thinks about it. Even though his head feels muzzy, wrapped in cotton wool, and his mouth is like a desert. All of the pain he’d been feeling earlier has dulled to a soft, yet insistent, throbbing. Off to the side of the bed sits Cas, arms folded and mouth pursed in displeasure.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, or, he tries to say. His voice comes out as a dry croak. Cas picks up a glass from the nightstand and holds it up so Dean can drink from it. Small amounts of liquid dribble down the sides of his mouth, but most of the cool, refreshing water slides down his throat. More awake now, he attempts speech again. "Cas." This time his voice sounds like it usually does, although still cragged with pain.

"Dean," Cas says. He wipes at the side of Dean's mouth with the edge of the sheet, and brushes Dean's hair off his forehead. "Are you all right?"

Dean huffs a laugh, and immediately regrets it, because it jars his arm, his side, and just about every other part of his body. He can't figure out if there's any part of him that's not in pain. He looks down at his arm and is pleased to see that it's in a sling, but then he frowns when he sees something glowing blue from beneath his shirt.

"Cas?" He lifts his shirt and pulls out the vial of Grace. "What... why is this around my neck?"

Cas sighs. "You shouldn't have gone after Metatron, Dean. It was too dangerous."

Dean rolls his eyes. That hurts too, and he groans in irritation. It's going to be a long recovery process. "Cas, I'm fine. I'm alive, and I got your Grace. I don't understand why it's still in the vial? Why didn't you just..."

"I never asked you to get my Grace back, Dean. It was too risky. Something could have happened to you." Cas pauses, and then flaps his hand at Dean various injuries. "Something did happen do you, Dean."

"I'll be fine, Cas. I've gotten over worse, you know that." Dean struggles to move into an upright position, but it's difficult with just one arm. Cas places a palm on Dean's chest to prevent him from struggling any further. Dean tries not to think about how the warmth of Cas's palm sinks through the thin t-shirt to his skin beneath.

Cas shakes his head, sighing. "Still." His tone softens. "Thank you, Dean, for getting my Grace back. But... I don't want it." He avoids Dean's gaze as he says the words, which hit Dean like a lightning bolt. How is it possible that Cas doesn't want his Grace back? The entire time Cas has been a human, he's spent his time pointing out all the disadvantages of being human. The lack of stamina, the need for constant maintenance, being bombarded with emotions that he can't control, all of it seemed to aggravate Cas to no end. But now...

"Cas, I don't understand." Dean's head throbs, and he can't decide if it's from the conversation or the fact that he'd been thrown into a wall (twice).

"I'll explain later. You need to rest, Dean."

"But..."

"No. Rest." Cas stands, arms folded over his chest. "We'll have this conversation later."

Before Dean can protest any further, Cas slips out of the room. Dean's left alone to contemplate the odd conversation he'd just had with his friend. His eyes drift closed, and he lets the sweet oblivion of sleep take him away.

* * *

 

Dean spends most of the next week sleeping fitfully and resting in his room. Whenever he tries to engage Cas in conversation, Cas shuts him down, ordering him to rest more and leaving the room before Dean can get anything out of him. Sam's no help, refusing to let Dean out of his room when Dean does try manage to get up and shuffle across to the door.

If he were at one hundred percent, neither of them would get away with this, he thinks bitterly. As it is, a small part of him is grateful that both Sam and Cas have taken the decision out of his hands for now.

The entire time, Cas's Grace stays around Dean’s neck. The substance within the vial glows, beautiful and bright. It warms the skin beneath his shirt, and he's a little bit comforted by its presence. Dean doesn't take the necklace off, taking his role as its guardian very seriously.

He gives up trying to talk to Cas about it after the third day, instead focusing on getting better. The catalog of his injuries is extensive: a dislocated left shoulder, a deep, but clean, stab wound in his side, numerous contusions and scrapes. The swelling in his eye begins to go down after the third day, and he by the end of the week, he can see through both eyes.

The end of the week is about when his patience wears out. He's done playing the invalid, and very nearly gets into a screaming match with Sam over it. Dean becomes acutely aware of just how large and dangerous his brother is when Sam looms over him and yells that Dean's not going anywhere. Dean sets his jaw, though, and refuses to back down.

Kevin separates them, and says, "Maybe we should let him out of his room, at least, Sam."

Sam's eyes flash, annoyed that Kevin would suggest anything other than constant bed rest, but he stands aside and lets Dean through the door.

Cas is in the library, sitting at the long table, several tomes in front of him. When Dean comes in, he frowns. "Why are you out of bed?"

"Because I'm getting bed sores, Cas. My ass can't take all that lying around."

Cas looks like he's going to argue, but then he shrugs his shoulder and returns his attention to the book in front of him.

"Cas, we need to talk, buddy." Gesturing to the Grace necklace, he says, "You need to explain this. I went to a lot of trouble to get your Grace back."

Cas mumbles something.

"What?"

Cas slams the book shut. "I didn't ask you to! I didn't ask you to go out and risk your life for something that..." Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. "Something that I have no use for anymore."

The bottom falls out of Dean's stomach. "What? What do you mean?"

Cas slumps in the chair, his expression petulant. He doesn't answer for several long minutes, during which Dean's brain conjures all sorts of implausible explanations for his friend's behavior. It's been over a year since Cas first lost his Grace, and while the adjustment to being human had been rocky, to say the least, he'd acclimated pretty well. Once they'd managed to kick Ezekiel out of Sam and brought Cas back to the bunker full time, Dean had been thrilled. His family was together, all under one roof, with the exception of Charlie, who kept in contact with them from Oz through some amazing technological feats.

The entire time, however, Dean had operated under the assumption that Cas wanted his Grace back. Dean figured that Cas was just waiting until they could finally do something about Metatron, get his Grace back, and then he could return to being his usual, angel self. Cranky, scruffy, trench-coated, and able to flit off at a moment’s notice.

But now Cas sits before him, a scowl on his face, and he’s just said he doesn’t have any use for his Grace anymore. Dean’s not sure what it means. He knows what he wants it to mean, but one of the things that he’s learned throughout his lifetime is that Dean Winchester generally doesn’t get the things he wants.

After an eternity, Cas finally looks Dean in the eye and says, “Dean. I was not very good as an angel. I struggled to be human and now that I’m getting the hang of it...” he shrugs. “I’d like to stay here for a while.”

Dean tries not to get his hopes up. He doesn’t want to think about what Cas might actually be saying, because again, Dean Winchester doesn’t get what he wants. “Cas, I...” Dean’s at a loss for words. If Dean were being honest, he’d probably tell himself that he wants Cas to stay, he wants his best friend to be there with him always. If he were _truly_ being honest with himself, he’d say that he doesn’t want Cas to hang around just because Cas is his best friend.

There’s nothing like Winchester-style self-delusion, however.

Cas still has something to say. “Feeling things as a human is... different. Brighter. I was so removed from things... emotions... as an angel, and now that I’m human...” Cas shakes his head. “I don’t expect you to understand. You can... you should keep it. My Grace, I mean.” Cas turns away, meaning to head out of the room. He looks over his shoulder at Dean, a sad expression on his face. “I think you’ll take better care of it than I ever could.”

And with that, Cas trudges out of the room, shoulders hunched up around his ears. Dean’s left there, holding the vial of Grace in his hand, where it pulses warmly. “What was that all about?” he wonders out loud. The Grace pulses brightly in response, but Dean can’t tell if there’s an answer there or not.

* * *

 

Dean grows accustomed to having the Grace around his neck as company. While he recovers, it glows comfortingly beneath his shirt, flaring up in what Dean thinks is irritation every now and then. Dean decides that it is indeed irritation rather than anything else, since the flare-ups are short, intense bursts of light that leave bright spots in his field of vision. At first Dean can’t figure out why the Grace flares the way it does, and he starts talking to it (when he’s alone, mind) to figure out what the problem is.

Eventually he realizes it flares up the most brightly when Dean’s pushing himself too hard - when he’s trying to do too much that his body’s not ready for yet. Hauling around books in the library, trying to make sense out of the Men of Letters filing system (Dean thinks that the system may actually be no system at all), Dean nearly tears out a few stitches in his side. This nets him several irritable flashes from the vial around his neck.

“All right, all right,” he says, even though he feels kind of stupid talking to the necklace. But when he flops into a chair and props up his feet, eyes closed, he can feel the warm pulse of the Grace against his skin, almost like a caress. “Well, that pleased you, didn’t it?” There’s no response from the vial, not that Dean had actually expected one.

Cas makes himself scarce. The only sign of his continued habitation in the bunker is an additional coffee cup in the sink at breakfast time, and a washed and drying plate by the sink at night. He’s managed to find himself a small hideaway somewhere, only coming out to eat.

This, more than anything, worries Dean, and he remarks on it early one morning about a week and a half after he’s returned with the Grace. He’s lying in bed, covers pulled up to his chin, trying to decide whether he wants to actually get up or not. And, since he’s taken to talking to the Grace, it seems only natural that he voice his concern.

“Can’t figure out where Cas is hiding these days,” Dean says. The Grace pulses in commiseration, but otherwise seems to have no answer. Dean hums. “Not sure why he’s so adamant about not getting you back.” Again the pulse, though this time it’s cooler than usual. “What, you have an idea about this?”

Two quick, but cool, flashes from the Grace. Dean recognizes it for the displeasure that it is, and he says, “Yeah, me too. But Cas is his own man, not really sure I can force him to take you back.” A sad, dark blue pulse this time. Dean pats the vial resting on his chest and then heaves himself up out of bed. “He’ll come around.” The Grace pulses weakly this time, as if to say it’s not so sure. Dean silently agrees with the Grace.

* * *

 

Dean searches the bunker high and low for Cas, muttering all the while, half to himself and half to the Grace. About two days in, he realizes that he’s been going about the search the wrong way, and he practically brains himself when he slaps his forehead.

“I practically have a GPS to Cas right here around my neck,” Dean says, and he cups his hand around the vial. It pulses in excitement. “Okay, so you can kind of change color and temperature, right? How about we play a game of hot/cold? The closer I get to Cas, the warmer you get, and the further away I get, then... well you get the idea, right?” The Grace pulses again, and Dean thinks it feels like the Grace is smiling.

“Awesome.”

Dean heads down the corridor to the sleeping rooms, and the Grace grows cool with each step. He hadn’t really expected Cas to be in this direction, it was more of an experiment than anything else. He takes one step toward Kevin’s room, and hisses when the Grace suddenly turns ice cold. “All right, all right! I was just checking.” He turns around in the opposite direction and heads toward the library.

Which is a bust. The Grace remains tepid, and keeps its normal bright blue color, never changing color or temperature. Dean circles around the library twice, just to be sure, and as he’s about to start a new circuit, the Grace flashes brightly again.

“Man, you’re impatient,” Dean says. The Grace brightens just a bit in a shrug.

The afternoon wears on like that, Dean poking in and out of every nook and cranny that he can conceive of. The Grace either grows chilly or stays the same temperature and color it always is. By the time dinner rolls around and there’s no Cas, Dean’s about ready to yank the Grace off and throw it across the room.

Just as he closes his fist around the vial, it flares bright red and becomes so hot that he jerks his hand away. Grateful that he’s wearing the vial on top of his shirt rather than under, he snaps, “What?!” There’s no answer from the Grace, other than to hold onto its red hue and warm temperature.

Dean turns around in a circle, trying to figure out which way to go, but he realizes he doesn’t have to go anywhere. Cas stands in the doorway, looking at him hesitantly.

“Cas, where the hell have you been?” Dean demands. The Grace glows an irritable purple, as if to punctuate Dean’s question.

Cas looks at the floor, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s hesitant, awkward, and Dean realizes that before this year, he’s never seen Cas look like this - uncertain. If Cas had ever been uncertain as an angel, he never let it show.

“Cas?” Dean asks, hoping that Cas will say something... _anything_ at this point, because it’s been nearly a week of radio silence, and while Cas’s Grace keeps him company, it’s not quite the same as having Cas there.

“This place has several secret passages,” Cas says, not taking his eyes from the floor. Relief washes through Dean, like cool water on a hot summer day. The Grace turns a brilliant green for a moment, and then subsides into quiescence.

“Cas...” Dean says, his hand outstretched. He’s not sure what he expects Cas to do with that, and he lets the hand fall back to his side. The motion isn’t lost on Cas, who raises an eyebrow. He stands next to Dean and leans back against the wall.

“You want an explanation.” It’s a statement, not a question, but Dean nods anyway.

“Yeah, I want an explanation. What the hell?” Dean doesn’t hide his anger. “This isn’t like you, Cas. You don’t...” Dean waves his hand up and down. “You don’t hide from stuff.” The Grace around Dean’s neck flares bright orange, punctuating Dean’s question.

Cas smiles faintly. “Not usually, no.” He tilts his chin at the Grace hanging around Dean’s neck. “It’s been trying to help you find me.”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a shrug. This is not actually the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to him. He can take this all in stride.

Cas murmurs something in Enochian, and the Grace glows a happy yellow accompanied by a slow warmth that Dean feels all the way to the tips of his fingers.   
  
“Woah, what’d you do?” He asks, but Cas just shakes his head.

“Do you know why I don’t want my Grace back?” Cas asks instead. Dean doesn’t answer, taking it for the rhetorical question that it is. After a minute, Cas starts up again. “Because as an angel, I didn’t feel things, not really.” He folds his arms across his chest and rubs his hands on his upper arms, like he’s cold. He pushes off the wall and paces the room.

“Human existence is filled with hundreds of annoyances. Hunger, cold, heat,” Cas says, ticking the items off with his fingers. “Sadness, fear. Having to pee. Feeling uncomfortably full after the end of a meal.” Cas stops his pacing and looks Dean in the eye. “Worrying that you’ve let someone down.”

Dean swallows. “But–”

Cas holds up a hand to stop Dean from interrupting him. “But humans also have things like putting on a warm sweater, and eating a really good burger. Drinking a cold beer, and feeling just slightly tipsy.” Cas huffs a laugh. “ _Finally_ getting to go to the bathroom after holding it in for too long.”

Dean smirks at this. So typical of Cas that he would find something beautiful even in the most mundane of things.

“As an angel, my feelings were... muted... behind a thick veil. Becoming human brought them into sharp relief, Dean.”

Dean licks his lips slowly, uncertain about where Cas is going with this. Part of him wants Cas to shut up, to leave it alone, but the other part of him is elbowing the first part in the gut and shoving it aside. That part of Dean is desperate to know what Cas wants to say.

Cas, completely unaware of the turmoil in Dean’s thoughts, continues. “I want to stay human, Dean, because I can feel emotions in ways that I’ve never felt them before.” Cas trains his gaze on Dean's face, his eyes never wavering. Dean tries to parse the look, figure out what's beneath it, but he's at a loss. The Grace throbs impatiently in his palm, like there is something that Dean should get. But it doesn't seem like he will, not yet anyway. Cas scrubs a hand through his hair, making it even more unruly than ever. Dean had long since given up trying to get Cas's hair lie flat. There was definitely something endearing about the fact that Cas's hair refused to be tamed.

Cas's eyes flicker down to Dean's mouth, and then his gaze drags upward again. It takes an eternity. If it were any other person, Dean would think that look meant something. He's used that look himself on any number of people before, although he hasn't wanted to recently. There hasn't been anyone of interest, not really, no one he's wanted to stare at the way Cas is now looking at him –

Oh.

"Cas," Dean says, and it comes out so hoarsely that he can barely hear himself. He swallows thickly and tries again. "Cas, you don't mean that."

Cas's expression turns dark. "You don't get to tell me how I feel, Dean Winchester." He pokes Dean in the sternum, hard. Cas may be a fallen angel, but he's still amazingly strong. Dean figures there's more strength in one of Cas's fingers than a lot of people have in their whole body.

And to top it off, the Grace in Dean's hand flares hot and red, punctuating Cas's irritation. Dean hisses lightly in pain, but doesn't let go of the precious vial.

"Cas, I'm not worth it. Don't give up your Grace for me." Dean pushes down on the small voice inside him that pipes up and says to him, _Shut up, you idiot! Cas wants to stay_!

Cas crowds into Dean's personal space, closer than he's been to Dean in a long time. Uncomfortable flashes of memory remind him of an early confrontation, the only time Dean has ever seen Cas lose control. Dean doesn't flinch, but it's a near thing.

"Dean." Cas looks exasperated, but also... Affectionate? Dean can't figure out that combination at all. "Good things do happen, remember? You are worthy of so many good things." Cas waves the topic away, though. "But I'm not doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing it for me." Cas stands so close now that Dean feels the other man's warm breath on his cheek. Something pleasant unfurls in Dean’s belly as he and Cas continue to stare at each other. For once, Dean doesn’t have anything to say.

The spell breaks when they both move together, toward each other. They press their lips together, lightly kissing. Cas tastes of coffee and underlying mint, and his mouth is hot and pliant against Dean’s. Someone makes a soft sound, and then Dean is surrounded by Cas, whose hand cradles the back of his head. Cas’s other arm snakes around Dean’s middle and pulls him even closer, so they’re flush up against each other. Dean wraps his arms around Cas, keeping a tight hold on the vial holding Cas’s Grace, and they kiss and kiss like this is their last chance to.

For Dean, kissing has always been an important prelude to the main event. Kissing establishes intimacy in ways that Dean isn’t always able to with his words. More a man of actions than anything else, Dean throws himself into kissing like he’s got an epic novel to write. Kissing Cas is sweeter than he ever thought would be possible.

Cas pulls away just as Dean settles into the kiss. Pressing their foreheads together, Cas says in a whisper, “That felt...”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, when Cas doesn’t finish the sentence.

Cas huffs a laugh. “This is what I  meant... earlier. I don’t think...”

Dean kisses Cas again, to shut him up, yes, but also to feel Cas’s lips beneath his own. He wants to catalog every sensation that is Cas, file it all away for the future. He can feel Cas’s lips turn up at the corners as they kiss, and happiness bubbles up inside Dean. This is what it should be like for Cas, he thinks. He should be able to feel this.

But this time it’s Dean who pulls away, a worried expression on his face. “Cas, you shouldn’t have to give up your Grace though. Not for this, not for anything.”

Cas grips Dean’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Dean, this is my choice. I want this. I have never gotten to choose before. And so, I choose to stay human.”

Dean moves the hand holding the vial of Cas’s Grace so it’s in between the two of them. They look down at it, while it pulses happily between grass green and daffodil yellow. “You should hold onto this, Cas,” Dean says.

Cas clasps his hand over Dean’s. “Will you keep it safe for me? If I want it again?”

Dean hesitates, because this isn’t just a, “Would you save me a seat” request, this is Cas’s Grace. This is a big fucking deal, and not since Dad handed him Sammy has Dean been asked to care for something so precious.

“Dean,” Cas says again, squeezing Dean’s hand.

“Yeah Cas, sure.” Dean puts the necklace back over his head and lets it come to rest right above his heart. It continues to pulse green and yellow, bright, happy colors that echo in Dean’s chest as he leans in to kiss his best friend again. Cas laughs, and it’s a joyous sound.


End file.
